


Belated

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long day, and Viggo's made it home far later than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belated

**Author's Note:**

> Because I haven't been able to be on top of people's birthdays this year (sorry), I'm taking my cue from the hobbit model. This is my mathom to you, my friends, my Flist, for every one of your birthdays, and for everyone who wished me a Happy Birthday this year, in all venues and forms. Thank you. ♥

The streetlights lent the night a faint but welcoming glow as Viggo turned into the drive. It had been overcast for most of the day, and now that the darkness had fallen, there were no stars to illuminate his way. Still, the outside lights were on, the two on the garage, the one near the door.

_At least he wasn't too angry._

Viggo pulled the car in cleanly alongside Sean's, parked, turned the key towards himself, and as the engine shut off, he leaned back and closed his eyes, sighing softly as he enjoyed the descending quiet. All day had been nothing but a blur of activity, a buzz of noise, a bustle of energy, and he'd ached for a little quiet time to himself. He inhaled in a long, slow breath, feeling his lungs expand, the air filling him, and he held it there for a moment, savouring, then snorted, coughed and exhaled in a rush as the acrid edge of fading exhaust fumes registered.

Despite the light above the door, Viggo fumbled a little as he fit key to lock, rattling the door handle even as the tumblers clicked out of place. The door swung open with its customary creak, and Viggo smiled as he caught sight of the soft glow suffusing the other end of the corridor.

What a relief. _He must not be angry at all._

Once the door was shut and locked behind himself, Viggo toed off his shoes and stepped on the toes of his socks, dragging them off one after the other, too tired to lean over. For a split second he considered leaving them there, but then a shaggy head appeared around the corner, four feet and a tail following, loping down the hall. Maybe Sean wasn't angry that Viggo hadn't come home even remotely close to on time, but there was no need to invite ire by letting the dogs chew up abandoned socks.

The space between his arms and the floor seemed to grow as he leaned over, back protesting with its own creaking and groaning. But before he fell flat on his face, tumbling over with the momentum of his own weight pulling him down, he snagged both socks, holding his breath against any odour, and shoved them unceremoniously in his pocket.

On the way back up, the owner of the shaggy head closed the distance and planted a big, wet kiss across Viggo's nose and mouth. Viggo sputtered, grinned, and smooched the snuffling nose currently trying to smear itself across his cheek. "Hey, boy," he murmured. "Where's your brother? With your daddy?" He scratched his way up the Alsatian's ruff, grinning at the way the dog cocked his head as Viggo found his favourite spot behind his ears.

A few more moments of scratching and petting, and then Viggo patted the dog's flank, urging him off down the corridor so that he had some hope of leaving the foyer sometime tonight. Predictably, his companion quickly lost interest in him, disappearing rapidly in the direction of the bedrooms.

Viggo smiled softly, watching him go. He was looking forward to bed himself, but his stomach had other ideas. As he shrugged off his coat, it rumbled in protest. "Fine, fine," he muttered. "Food, then sleep."

He padded down the hall, flicking on and off the odd light here and there as he went. Pausing on the threshold of the front room, he smiled to see the lamp in the corner left on, the source of the glow that had welcomed him into the house. Stepping into the room, his smile grew bigger. On the coffee table, shining softly in the light from the lamp, were two boxes: the larger was nattily wrapped in metallic blue paper, wide silver ribbon twined around its length and width, topped off with a corresponding shiny bow -- obviously professionally done, because Sean wielded tape and paper with all the skill of a second grader -- while the smaller, just a wee thing, looked like it had gone three rounds with a blindfolded bear armed only with last year's holiday wrap. Viggo grinned. _At least he hadn't used newspaper this time._

Viggo stepped closer, trailing his fingertips over the top of both, dipping low to admire the way the light glittered on the ribbon, and the ten tons of tape Sean had wrapped around the tiny repeating pattern of laughing Santas. There was a scattering of envelopes, Viggo noted, one in Sean's handwriting tucked under the boxes, the others sporting stamps and addresses from far-flung places. For a long moment Viggo considered dropping down onto the couch and ripping into his presents, the satisfying hiss of torn paper past echoing in his ears. But one memory of the delight that shone in Sean's face whenever he watched Viggo open something he'd picked out himself was enough to have him shaking his head and vowing not to give in to temptation, at least not until morning. He leaned over, clicking off the lamp, leaving the presents to slumber in darkness.

The kitchen called, or rather, his stomach insisted once again on the necessity of a pit stop. Viggo groaned, clutching at it in a fruitless attempt to silence the rumbling even as he wandered back into the hallway, across wood and carpet and finally onto cool tile. As he flicked on the overheads, he found himself blinking away little pinpricks of light in the corners of his eyes, an unwelcome gift of the fluorescents they still hadn't quite had a chance to replace. Once his vision cleared, he caught sight of the table, and felt his expression soften. Carefully laid out just a little off-centre were two empty glasses, and two stacked plates -- the small kind designed to make tiny portions look bigger -- crossed by two equally small forks, and flanked by a wicked looking knife. Beside the knife was a closed, pristine matchbook, not a scratch on the cover, and an open packet of tiny candles, these in blue and green wax, each shaped and swirled with a spiralling line of white from toe to tip. An empty serving plate, a remnant of the moving-in tokens endowed on the two of them by their well-meaning women friends, sat quietly sparkling as if it had just this minute been washed, dried and laid out fresh. There was only one thing missing, and a quick peek in the fridge confirmed that there was, indeed, a cake to go with all the cutlery, the closed white bakery box gently placed on the middle shelf, the condiments and leftovers unceremoniously shoved out of the way, left to cluster around its back and sides, pushed aside to make room.

Viggo traced the box's cardboard edge, imagining the cake inside. Would it be chocolate? Lemon? Some raspberry and pound cake confection? Would Sean have chosen something bursting with a garden of icing flowers, or something more staid, more subdued, more masculine? Would it sport the usual celebratory words, or something more personal, something he would have stammered to speak across the bakery counter, opting to write it down instead? Viggo's finger itched, twitching ever so slightly, lifting the cardboard enough to catch nothing more than a flash of yellow and green before he snatched his hand away, letting the box fall closed once again. Better not to ruin the surprise, silly as waiting might be. Instead, he reached past it, grabbing for the mustard, fumbling for the cheese, and in no time at all, he found himself leaning against the counter, munching away at an after-midnight roast beef sandwich made all the sweeter by knowing even this box would wait on him, even if he was far too late.

Once the crumbs were brushed from his lips, fingers and clothes, the lot washed down with a forbidden gulp or two of juice straight from the container, Viggo patted his stomach, now pleasantly full and finally quiet. It was long past time for him to slip between sheets, but as he pushed away from the counter, he was suddenly seized by the desire to leave a little sign, some tiny mark that he'd seen and appreciated, but had behaved himself utterly, just like any good boy aught. He rummaged in the utility drawer, fished out the kitchen shears, stepped away to turn on the porch light, and was out in the yard in a flash, and back inside once again in the blink of an eye. A little rinse under the tap and some digging around for a suitable vase, and he settled a sprig of bluebells in the middle of the table, charging them with properly greeting Sean in the morning.

The stairs were the next hurdle, and he climbed them entirely in the dark, dragging tired legs and an even more tired body up to the landing, mindful of each familiar creak that sang of his progress into the bedroom. By the time he crossed the threshold, his eyes had begun to adjust, and so even without the tell-tale whuffling and snuffling, the soft snores, he could see the outlines of the bed's inhabitants, the largest bundle in the middle, the blankets rising and falling with each breath, and two smaller bumps, one curled in the crook of Sean's knees, the other stretched out over Viggo's side, cuddled close to Sean's chest, an arm curled possessively over the fuzzy body. Both furry heads rose in unison at Viggo's approach, then dropped one after the other as his scent was breathed in and recognized.

Viggo chuckled, stepping around the bed and making his way to the en suite, tugging the door almost all the way closed before turning on the bathroom light. Softly, he murmured, "You have ten more minutes and then he's mine," before slipping into the bathroom and closing the door firmly behind him.

He hadn't realized how much he'd needed the shower until he was under its spray, the heat and pounding stream relaxing him far more than he had thought possible. He bit his lip against a groan, feeling his shoulders rise, round and fall, his muscles unknotting as a new wave of fatigue hit him like a brick. It was tempting to simply lean against the wall, close his eyes and snooze until the hot water ran out, but on reflection, he didn't relish being awoken by a stream of ice. So scrubbed down and newly clean, he shut off the shower and stepped out, ignoring the puddle that gathered at his feet. Viggo tugged a towel off the rack, revelling in the softness of it against his skin, it too a temptation to just give up now, sit down on the floor, tug it over himself and go to sleep. Instead, once he was halfway dry, he dropped his halfway wet towel on top his discarded clothes, pushing them into the corner nearest the hamper, leaving them to learn to leap upward onto the rest of the dirty clothes on their own. He gave his teeth a quick scrub, his hair a quick comb, then flicked off the light before opening the door.

As the rush of cool air hit him, coaxing goosebumps from his skin, he thought he caught sight of a bump heaving itself out from under Sean's arms, and he most definitely heard the thump as two, then four paws hit the floor. Viggo grinned, weaving his way back across the room, feeling the brush of fur against his legs. "Thanks," he murmured, and tugging back the sheets, he slid into bed.

Almost immediately, the rest of the bed moved. The other small bump was clearly annoyed by Viggo's disruption, and a faint snort of disgust accompanied by kicking paws let this opinion be known. And Sean -- still far enough asleep that come morning he wouldn't remember _when_ Viggo got home, but aware enough that he would register that Viggo _had_ made it home -- instinctively shifted towards him, curving his arm around Viggo's waist, tugging him close.

Viggo smiled, his chest growing pleasantly tight. He settled against Sean, taking a moment to stroke his hair, kiss his temple, slide his palm down Sean's side, and then he stilled, eyes still open in the dark, breathing in Sean's scent as deeply as he could. He was sorry he was late, sorry he'd missed his own party, even if it had been only for the two of them, but even so, the evening had turned out exactly as perfect as it was meant to be. Viggo leaned closer, straining to make out Sean's features against the darkness, wetting his lips. As he slipped his arm around Sean's back, fitting each angle and curve of his body to Sean's own, he was rewarded with a soft sigh. He kissed Sean then, light and gentle, just a slow brush of lips against the corner of Sean's mouth, not wanting to wake him up any more than he already had. "Happy Birthday to me," he whispered, closing his eyes, letting the sound of Sean's breath carry him across the threshold to sleep.


End file.
